Post Amok
by hiddenfiresindeed
Summary: Amok Time after the credits. Spock's life and sanity hang in the balance, and Jim must do the unthinkable: place the life of the one he loves most into a stranger's hands. Non-slash, no pairings. Minor OC.
1. Chapter 1

Title: Post Amok

Characters: Kirk, Spock, McCoy, OC

Rating: K+

Word Count: 1940

Spoilers/Warnings: Spoilers for _Amok Time_

Summary: _Amok Time_ after the credits. Spock's life and sanity hang in the balance, and Jim must do the unthinkable: place the life of the one he loves most into a stranger's hands. Non-slash, no pairings. Minor OC.

Author's Note: Not personally viewing TOS as a slash story, something had to keep Spock alive all those years, and I don't really see him in a loving, long-term relationship with anyone but Kirk and the Enterprise. So this is my slightly AU solution. Written pretty much because I love those two and how much they mean to each other.

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

* * *

><p>The bosun's whistle sounded loudly over the shipwide com system, alerting Kirk to the approaching arrival of the delegates' shuttle in the hangar deck. Tossing a hand over throbbing eyes, he flung an arm across his face, feeling every bit of the tension from the past few days rising to the surface. Swinging to sit on the edge of his bunk, Kirk massaged his forehead in irritation.<p>

The Enterprise had recently finished participating in the ceremonies on Altair VI, and since then, had been sent on a supply run, remaining in nearby space until the time when they would be required to transport delegates from two warring planets to a Federation peace summit in a neutral star system.

Another whistle, shriller in its intensity, sounded from the intercom on his desk, and Kirk winced, his headache returning full force. "Spock to Captain Kirk," the calm baritone invaded the quiet of his quarters.

Scowling grumpily, he swatted at the monitor switch. "Kirk here," he clipped out brusquely. "What is it, Mr. Spock?"

The brown eyes surveyed him with a hint of sympathetic understanding. "Sir, the ambassador's shuttlecraft is approaching, and will be docking in approximately 2.8 minutes."

Kirk frowned. "Alright, Spock, I'm on my way. Kirk out." Straightening, he tugged the satiny sheen of uniform green into place, mentally preparing for the last of the diplomatic arrivals. Striding quickly down the ship's corridors to the turbolift, Kirk thought peevishly of the present position Starfleet Command had placed him in. Klingon mindsifters and Romulan espionage were all part of the trade, a duty he gladly shared in exchange for the chance to reach out to the stars, with the energy of his Lady thrumming beneath the deck. But ferrying diplomats across star systems reached the limit to his patience and endurance; and the monotony of travelling through chartered Federation space, combined with the task of pleasing difficult, often arrogant, emissaries, had placed his crew, and particularly his command staff, in a distinctly irritable frame of mind. _Besides_, Kirk thought darkly as he stepped out of the turbolift and down the corridor towards his two waiting friends, _after his nearly fatal encounter with T'Pau on Vulcan almost two weeks ago, he had had just about enough of regal heads-of-state, thank you very much._1

Kirk's hazel eyes narrowed at the memory. He still could not believe the otherwise peaceful planet had been willing to stand on tradition and witness his death, his life almost destroyed by the dearest of hands.

Approaching the honor guard in the hangar deck, Kirk's eyes darted to his First Officer in a swift, scrutinizing glance. Initially following their return from his home planet, Spock had seemed to be recovering from his illness; however, he had not continued to improve and still appeared far too pale and gaunt, and …. off, somehow. Kirk mentally registered a reminder to bring the matter up later with McCoy.

"Gentlemen," he greeted, drudgery and mild irritation pursing his lips. "Here we go, one last time."

The ship's doctor fidgeted, uncomfortable in any apparel but his well-worn scrubs. "I don't see why I have to be here, _Captain_," he grumbled sulkily. "I'm the CMO, not a blasted Starfleet envoy…"

Spock turned humorless dark eyes to the physician. "_That_ is quite correct," he nodded, instantly seizing the opening. "The repercussions of your misrepresentation of Starfleet's goodwill could quite conceivably cause irreparable damage –"

McCoy sputtered angrily, his eyes widening in vehemence. "Why, you pointy-eared-"

"Bones, Spock!" a sharp whisper from their exasperated captain stopped the tirade. "Belay that." The honor guard stood at attention as the bosun whistle piped the ambassador's party onto the hangar deck. Turning to face the approaching group, Kirk forced a smile on his face and once again turned the force of his charm on the advancing delegates.

Two days later, Kirk's mood had not improved. Plopping down in a chair between his CMO and Science Officer, he looked down discontentedly at the brightly colored cubes the food replicator had seen fit to give him, and he picked up a fork in resignation.

Kirk's eyes quickly scanned the Officer's Mess, noting an attaché from one of the diplomatic parties sitting at a nearby table, dining alone. Several junior officers were enjoying their evening meal, and the room was relatively quiet. "Spock," he turned to his companion, "how 'bout a game of chess this evening, after I finish signing the last of those req forms?" _Anything_, Kirk thought grimly_, to relieve_ _the tedium from another uneventful Alpha shift_. He glanced down at the barely touched plate of greens in front of the Vulcan and frowned inwardly.

His First Officer inclined his head. "That would be agreeable, sir, time permitting," Spock answered, knowing the captain required some form of employment before his irritable manner eventually affected the crew. "I must check in with Lt. Ramsey, to ascertain the progress on the event horizon experiment we are conducting from the probe's data feeds. If all is well, then I will join you shortly thereafter."

"Lt. Ramsey, Spock?" the doctor interrupted, a frown crinkling his face. "Wasn't she moved up to bridge duty?" He glared at the impassive face before him. "You got your science people working off-duty again on your little pet projects?" McCoy turned to the captain. "Jim, I don't like it! Those people work hard enough without spendin' their down time hunkered away in some isolated laboratory!"

"Doctor," Spock intoned dryly, inching one delicately slanted eyebrow upward, "_those people_ are not required to perform any duties outside of their scheduled shift time. The Science Department has an abundance of tenacious individuals, and should they choose to expend their off-duty hours in research, rather than participate in the cacophony of a rec room, I see no reason for your interference." The dark eyes, shooting shards of black ice towards the medical officer, and causing two nearby ensigns to scurry hastily away, turned towards the captain, and softened almost imperceptibly as he noted the wide-spread grin on Kirk's face. "Would you not agree, sir?"

Jim's smile widened, his gaze moving from one friend to the other. "I wouldn't…presume to disagree with you, when it comes to your people, Spock," he began, but was interrupted by raised voices coming from the nearby table. A delegate from the neighboring planet had passed through the room towards the food replicators, and had consequently jostled the table where the attaché was consuming his meal, causing an angry shout from his antagonist. The disgruntled alien rose menacingly and faced the delegate, both tempers churning just beneath the surface.

Kirk rose as well, his friends' quarrel forgotten; and Spock stood silently behind him, ready to intervene with his captain should the situation require it. The attaché's eyes followed the commanding officers' movements, and he hesitated before turning away and resuming his meal in silence. With a snarl, the other delegate stalked out of the Mess, glowering at passing crewmen in the corridor.

Kirk let out a slow sigh and lowered back into his chair. "Spock," he began, his eyes still on the attaché, "I want you to review the break times for the officers on all three shifts for the next few days, and rotate their breaks so that we have senior or bridge officers in here at all meal times."

Spock nodded, "Aye, sir, I will see to-" his breath caught sharply, and his head dropped down, one thin hand rising to his temple, trembling.

Kirk was instantly alert, laying a hand on the blue sleeve, watching in concern at the momentary anguish that flitted across his First's expression before it was banished by Vulcan control. "Spock, what is it?" Kirk's voice lowered, all his recent anxiety for his friend resurfacing abruptly.

The dark eyes turned to him, with what would have been a confused, and almost lost, expression, if that were not an impossibility with this particular individual. "Bones," Kirk muttered, turning to the surgeon, his hand still supporting Spock's arm, "take him down to Sickbay, and give him a full examination. I want to know what's going on."

Relinquishing his hold on the Vulcan to the medical officer, Kirk's gaze followed them out of the Mess as Spock accompanied McCoy without protest, a most concerning sign. The captain pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling the start of one of his frequent headaches reappearing, and he fought down a growing sense of unease, memories from the nightmare of two weeks ago springing unbidden to his thoughts.

Unable to return to his quarters or rest, Kirk walked the ship, making his way down an hour later to Sickbay. Striding into McCoy's office, he barreled over to the desk to face the doctor, who turned irritably from the viewscreen he had been studying intently. The CMO held up his hand, stopping the rush of words readying on Kirk's lips. "Just wait, Jim," he muttered. "I don't know what's wrong with Spock," the doctor admitted, reaching a finger to switch the viewscreen off, and turning his attention to the younger man before him.

Kirk bristled, his back straightening in indignation. "What do you mean, doctor, '_you don't_ _know'_? Did you examine him or not?"

"I did, Captain!" McCoy flared back, meeting Kirk's anger defensively. "But I can't figure out what's going on with that crazy physiology of his – and I don't think Spock knows what's going on either," he added, his drawl becoming more pronounced in his agitation.

He sat back down behind the desk and motioned for Kirk to take a seat in the opposite chair, but the other man waved a hand impatiently, moving to pace the length of the room. "Well, what _did_ you find, Bones?"

McCoy shook his head, never caring to admit when he was at a loss for diagnosis or treatment. "I don't know, Jim-boy," he rumbled, running a hand through his hair in a distracted habit of nervous thought. "He seems to have symptoms pointing to a change in intracranial pressure – nausea, headaches, lethargy, irritability…" the doctor counted off symptoms. "But his ICP readings were normal, or at least I think they're normal for him; and I found an unusually large increase in brain wave activity. I don't know," the physician picked up a stylus and fidgeted with it," it just doesn't make sense."

"It….it couldn't be the _pon'farr_ again, could it?" the captain hesitated, not wanting to hear the answer.

But McCoy shook his head. "No, I asked him about that; Spock was certain this is different."

Kirk stopped pacing, and raised fear-shadowed eyes to his friend. "Then, what will happen to Spock? We're too far from Vulcan, Bones. I need answers."

"Well," McCoy shrugged, "if his condition _is_ related to a change in ICP then his headaches and other symptoms will continue to worsen, and could possibly be accompanied by seizures and loss of consciousness later in the process, unless we are able to find the cause and treat it. But that's just my best guess, Jim; we're speculatin' in the dark here."

Kirk stood motionless, his eyes fixed blindly at a point on the deck, indecision and frustration alternating on his face. McCoy waited quietly until Jim looked up and cleared his throat. "Where is he now?" the question came softly.

Leonard walked around the desk to touch the captain's elbow briefly. "I sent him to his quarters to rest, and advised him to place a call to Vulcan, to speak with a Vulcan healer."

"Thanks, Bones," Kirk managed a grateful, fleeting smile that never reached his eyes, and turned on his heel to walk swiftly from the room.


	2. Chapter 2

Title: Post Amok

Characters: Kirk, Spock, McCoy, OC

Rating: K+

Word Count: 1122

Spoilers/Warnings: Spoilers for _Amok Time_

Summary: _Amok Time_ after the credits piece, non-slash.

Author's Note: I don't usually prefer OC stories, but this OC will be a non-central, necessary evil to facilitate the yummy K/S angst! No pairings…. I don't write romance.

Disclaimer: I own nothing, I'm just a silly little fangirl who remembers watching TOS re-runs with her dad, and has loved it ever since.

Lt. Elena Ramsey sat at the console terminal in one corner of the dimly lit Research Lab Three, grouping and analyzing data from the black hole's event horizon. The young woman gazed at the columns drearily, the ship's computer feeding an endless, mind-numbing stream of figures to her console viewscreen. It had seemed a good idea at the time, she reflected sheepishly, to volunteer for the assignment, and she had been quite eager to participate in the study of the event horizon phenomena. But now, four days later, her "fascination" with the project had definitely waned, and she wanted nothing more than to enjoy a replicated hamburger and an evening of fun in a lower decks rec room with her friends.

The lieutenant suddenly realized with horror that her left foot had begun tapping in agitated impatience; and she froze, darting a swift glance across the room at the First Officer, not wanting to attract the attention and ire of their unusually cranky commander. But the Science Officer was deep in thought, working in unbroken concentration to interpret the data she was sending him; and the girl drew a breath in relief, resolving to attend to her work before any further sounds reached the too-sensitive Vulcan ears. Nor did she want to be discovered inattentive to her duties – she half expected to see the ship's captain come barreling in at some point, as he had the last time she had collaborated with the Science Officer, Kirk cheerful and cajoling, demanding the XO leave the lab for more relaxing pursuits.

She grinned, her eyes leaving the rows of figures momentarily. When she had first transferred as a newly made lieutenant to the Enterprise, she had heard vague, dark tales of the flagship's command team, rumors that warned her of a cavalier captain who chased every skirt on the ship, and a First Officer who frequently ate young, foolish junior officers for breakfast. It had not taken her long to realize, however, that these stories were merely part of the bravado of the Lady Enterprise and her incredible crew, the contents of proud boasts made by the crewmen and women of the renowned starship. Elena had quickly discovered that, while the captain's liaisons with women were legendary, Kirk rarely extended those attentions to the women of his own crew; and the First Officer, though demanding a high level of excellence from the people in his departments, possessed a gentleness and understanding of human weaknesses that one would not expect from his stoic demeanor.

A beep chirped from the console across the room, shattering the laboratory's silence. A moment later, Ramsey heard a gentle voice pipe through the viewscreen.

"Spock? My son, how are you?" Worry filtered through the comm-call.

The commander flicked a gaze at the only other inhabitant in the room, but she was studiously bent over her console, and he turned back to the subspace transmission. "_Ko-mehk_," Spock greeted, switching their conversation to Vulcan, and Lady Amanda answered in kind, noting the gravelly weakness in her son's tone.

Ten minutes later, the young astrophysicist found herself wishing desperately for a reason to disappear from the room. Cheeks flushing crimson, she sank further in her chair, trying without success to ignore the acutely personal conversation occurring on the other side of the lab; and for the first time, very much regretted having never discussed the commander's homeworld with her superior officer, nor mentioned the brief years spent there during her childhood, while her father lectured at the VSA. She still retained scattered memories of Vulcan's language and customs, and the woman closed her eyes in chagrin, having no desire to eavesdrop on that most uncomfortable of subjects.

"… the healers have seen this before, when a marriage link is abruptly severed, leaving a sort of…. emptiness, in the mind. That void must be filled, Spock," Amanda informed him, attempting unsuccessfully to meet dark, shamed eyes that were staring down at tightly clasped hands, "if you are to regain mental controls."

Slowly, Spock shook his head. "We are engaged in a vital diplomatic mission, mother; a return to Vulcan would be impossible at this time."

"It would not matter," the older woman's voice quieted, unwilling to cause her son any more pain than he had already experienced over the past few weeks. "Your father and I have made inquiries - Spock," her voice hardened slightly, unable to hold back indignation at the perceived prejudices against her son, "we were unable to locate a family willing to bond their daughter to a half-human mate."

The dark head dipped downward for a moment, the Vulcan's already tenuous hold on his controls slipping. The usually pale cheeks flushed a dark sage momentarily at the implied insult, but Amanda soon broke the heavy silence.

"Spock," she urged, her voice tight in its intensity, "you must find another bond-mate….someone from your crew, or an acquaintance from the Academy. Humans are not all that bad, you know," a small smile flitted across her face as her son shook his head again, "you _are_ half human yourself, and if it will save your life-"

"Impossible, mother." The despondency in Spock's face had changed to reflect impassive resignation. "_Kaiidth_. Perhaps the situation will resolve itself."

"Hope, Spock?" Amanda's smile was sincere this time, in spite of her concern; and she relented for the present, knowing the futility of arguing with her exceedingly stubborn progeny. "I will inform your father; we will continue to "hope" as well, and search for an answer."

The Vulcan nodded. "Spock out," and flicked the screen switch to end the transmission. He remained in his chair, deep in thought, oblivious to the amount of data queuing at his terminal from the lieutenant's console.

Elena thought she heard a small sigh escape from the far corner of the room. Her face, moments before burning scarlet with mortification, now paled in contrast, grieved by the information she had overhead. While most of the Science divisions quaked with no small fear when in close proximity to their austere Department Head, there was not a crewman among them who did not absolutely adore their Science Officer, and who would not willingly face a hundred Klingons if he asked them to. Elena knew the tragic loss of their commander would have a devastating effect on the crew, and then she thought of her captain, and shuddered. The friendship between the two CO's was something that was spoken of throughout the Federation, and the young lieutenant had observed first-hand the mutual affection and dependency between the two men. What would the captain do if his First Officer could not win the struggle against Vulcan mysticism and biology?

The possibilities were not pleasant to think of.


	3. Chapter 3

Title: Post Amok

Characters: Kirk, Spock, McCoy, original character

Rating: K+

Word Count: 1188

Spoilers/Warnings: Spoilers for _Amok Time_, slight spoiler for _The_ _Galileo Seven_, and _Operation-Annihilate!_

Author's Note: Not personally viewing TOS as a slash story, something had to keep Spock alive all those years, and I don't really see him in a loving, long-term relationship with anyone but Kirk and the Enterprise. So this is my slightly AU solution. Written pretty much because I love those two and how much they mean to each other.

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

* * *

><p>The bridge was eerily quiet, orders given in brisk, impersonal tones, without the usual conversation and banter that typically characterized the Alpha shift crew. At the Science station, Spock flicked his eyes shut briefly, endeavoring to ignore a wave of nausea that threatened his mental controls; and in that 1.47 seconds, the tense emotions from the varying crewmen on the bridge filtered through his weakened shields. Aware that the captain's concerned gaze was increasingly directed towards the Science station, the Vulcan opened his eyes and forcefully willed the nausea away, determined not to become sick all over his beloved instruments.<p>

Captain Kirk sat stiffly in his command chair, staring with unseeing eyes at the orbiting planet below, his thoughts drifting reluctantly to moments of similar helplessness. Taurus II. Deneva. Then, as now, the man had felt resentment and frustration at his inability to control the situation, to bark commands and remedy the crisis.1

And buried underneath the bitterness, the captain was conscious of a growing sense of panic; they were running out of time. Abruptly, he swiveled in his chair to peer up at his XO. "Orbital status, Mr. Spock?" he demanded, more from a need to hear the calm baritone assure him that all was well, than from any need for information he already knew.

But the tone that answered was weak, too thready to ears trained in every nuance of the commander's voice. "Ship remaining in standard orbit; all systems functioning, captain," the Vulcan replied, a tremor passing quickly through the lean frame as he stooped over the blue light of the computer viewscreen.

Kirk's head snapped up, and he started to rise, but then quickly rushed towards the upper bridge as the First Officer buckled, sinking limply into the science station's chair. He studied the Vulcan in alarm as Spock dropped his head in thin hands, his body trembling.

"Spock," he murmured quietly, placing both hands on the Vulcan's shoulders, holding the First Officer upright and offering support. His gaze remained fixed on the commander's bent head, until his friend drew a slow breath and looked up. "Mr. Spock, you're relieved. Go to your quarters," he ordered in a subdued voice, unable to keep the profound sadness from his tone.

Spock opened his mouth, a protest already forming. "Captain, request permission-"

"No," Kirk shook his head gently, denying the unfinished request. "No, go. That's an order, Spock."

Brown eyes met hazel in silent argument, as the bridge crew unobtrusively observed their COs customary mode of non-verbal communication. Finally, the dark eyes dropped, loyalty and long habit of obedience winning where Vulcan common sense could not. "Aye, sir," Spock answered, rising unsteadily to his feet and wincing at the sharp pain that accompanied the sudden movement. Kirk followed a step behind, stopping as his XO stepped into the turbolift and disappeared from view. With a hardened expression, he motioned for Lt. Ramsey to take over at the science station, then plopped defeatedly into the control chair.

Leaning against the armrest, he toggled a switch. "Kirk to Sickbay."

"McCoy here," the Georgian drawl filled the silence on the bridge. "Jim, whadda ya want? I'm trying to search the computer banks for anything on that Vulcan biology of his-"

"Bones, I just relieved Mr. Spock of duty and sent him down to his cabin." To Elena's watching eyes, the captain looked incredibly exhausted, the weight of the past few weeks beginning to exact their toll. "Go check on him; see what you can do for him."

Silence for a moment, then "Understood. On my way, Jim. McCoy out."

At the science console, Ramsey sat still, heart quailing at the look on their captain's face. For the past two days, she had watched as the ship's First Officer steadily deteriorated before their eyes, and her conscience berated her again as it had numerous times over the past forty-eight hours. The woman had hoped that the captain and chief surgeon would find an answer, or that Spock's human physiology would take over, but the expression on Kirk's face spoke of utter despair. The young lieutenant bit her lip, knowing what needed to be done, what compassion demanded she _should_ do; but she hesitated, afraid to approach the captain and admit to knowledge of the Vulcan's condition, reluctant to discuss so very private a Vulcan matter with her commanding officer. And, she admitted hesitantly, afraid of the repercussions to her own life, and her Starfleet career. Flushing at the selfish misgivings, she partially stood to peer into the computer viewscreen, attempting to shut out the bridge; but a beep at the captain's console drew her attention back to the center of the room.

"Jim," the voice over the comm-call did not wait for an answer. "I'm in Spock's quarters – you'd better get down here."

Kirk paled a sickly shade, and rose to his feet. "On my way," he answered, cutting off the call as he rounded the central dais. "Sulu, you have the conn."

Pulse beating fearfully, Ramsey hesitated for a brief moment, then stood, her mind resolved. Scurrying to intercept the captain at the turbolift doors, she cringed before the force of the stony glare turned on her. "Captain, sir, I can help Mr. Spock," she rushed, hurrying the words before she could repent of her actions. The golden figure before he glowered, not understanding, and impatient to see his friend. "Please, sir, I grew up on Vulcan," she continued urgently, "I think I know what's happening; let me help Dr. McCoy." She stopped, waiting nervously.

The captain surveyed her for a moment skeptically, then moved to the open turbolift doors. "Come," he said in determination, reaching out to guide her into the lift with him.

Once the turbolift doors had closed and the captain had ordered their destination, he turned to the silent officer. "You were raised on Vulcan, lieutenant?" he asked, doubt in his voice.

"Yes, sir, for a few years. My father lectured at the Science Academy there." Ramsey fell silent again, uncomfortable with the sole attention from the legendary captain, but Kirk's interest was focused on the lift wall opposite them, his thoughts anticipating what they would find below.

His mind suddenly jolted back to his companion, the words startling her with their frankness. "You say you understand what's going on. Is it the _pon'farr_, lieutenant?"

She flushed, reluctant to discuss the taboo subject openly. "No, sir, I do not believe it is. He requires a bonding mind-link, similar to the link Vulcan children forge with their future mates." She frowned thoughtfully. "It shouldn't induce the _plak-tow_," her voice lowered to a whisper at the prohibited word, "but will fill the void created by-" she hesitated, "by the severance of his previous link." The lieutenant looked away, her face reddened in embarrassed discomfiture. Kirk's gaze remained fixed on the woman, evaluating the truth to her words, digesting the impact of what she had stated.

The turbolift doors swished open. "Lieutenant," he ordered, striding quickly from the lift, "tell me everything you know." Elena scurried after him, terrified to follow into the commander's sacred living space.

1 _The Galileo Seven, Operation-Annihilate_!


	4. Chapter 4

Title: Post Amok

Characters: Kirk, Spock, McCoy, original character

Rating: K+

Word Count: 1243

Spoilers/Warnings: Spoilers for _Amok Time_

Summary: _Amok Time_ after the credits, non-slash. No pairings.

Author's Note: Truly only intended as a friendship fic; but I wrote this chapter when I was severely hypoglycemic and off my head, and it took a slightly cuddly turn….

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

* * *

><p>Elena followed Captain Kirk into the Vulcan's quarters, and her step faltered momentarily as the warm air and reddish glow of the alien environment brushed against her face. Vaguely noting the light trace of incense that lingered in the room, the woman's attention was swiftly drawn away from her surroundings by the unmistakable sounds of the commander emptying his stomach in the bathroom beyond. At her side, amber eyes narrowed in concerned empathy, and Kirk brushed past her towards the sound, instantly transforming from their brash and confident captain to an anxious and frightened friend. Before the bathroom doors closed on the girl, she saw Kirk kneeling beside the Vulcan, his face bent close to the pale, celadon one, murmuring low, urgent words she could not hear. The door slid shut, and the voices beyond faded.<p>

In the stillness of the empty room, Elena leaned against the wall and closed her eyes, knowing she would need a calm in her mind before meeting the turmoil of his. But the woman was unable to focus, struggling unsuccessfully to think of tranquil, peaceful thoughts, while knowing in the room beyond, one CO was losing his life, and the other was losing his soul.

After a moment, the door flew open and the First Officer stumbled into the room, half supported by the captain. Kirk led his XO to the partitioned sleeping quarters and gently settled him on the edge of the bed. The Vulcan's face was paler than before, his chest rising and falling rapidly with shallow breaths as he fought waves of anguish. Standing next to Dr. McCoy, Elena observed her two commanding officers nervously. Every line of pain on Spock's face was mirrored in the captain's, and she wondered briefly how many mind-melds they _had_ shared, to be that symbiotic.1

Kirk moved to sit on the bunk beside the Vulcan. "Spock," he began, desperation apparent in his voice. They had not fought the planet Vulcan, and Starfleet Command, and each other, two weeks ago, to lose Spock now in this manner. He waited a moment, but received no answer, the commander's head hanging limply, his chin resting against his chest. "Spock!"

At the urgency in Jim's voice, the Vulcan dragged hooded eyes up with effort to meet the captain's gaze, and a pale, thin hand shot out reflexively, shielding dark eyes from the well-lit room. Kirk cursed under his breath. "Lights, forty percent." Reaching for the black throw at the foot of the bed, he wrapped the blanket around the quivering form and bent to search for his friend's eyes, his voice lowered gently.

"Spock, Lt. Ramsey grew up on Vulcan. She says when your link with T'Pring was abruptly severed, you required attention from the Vulcan healers to repair the damage to your mind, but we whisked you away to complete that cursed Altair mission instead." Kirk's shoulders drooped dejectedly. "I'm sorry, Spock," he whispered. "I should have realized…." He stopped and cleared his throat from the tight pressure forming there. Alien eyes refused to look at him, and he continued. "And now you have an empty void that needs to be filled to level the pressure changes in your mind." His voice grew stronger as he took on the familiar leadership role, on more sure ground now that a solution was being offered. "Spock, Lt. Ramsey is willing to help you with this."

Dark eyes shot up in spite of the pain to meet Kirk's gaze, and Elena watched the current flickering between the two, wondering what was being said in that unspoken exchange.

"Spock…" Kirk's head bent towards his XO, and his voice trembled slightly, oblivious to the presence of the others in the room. "I need you. The Enterprise needs you!" The captain continued in the characteristically passionate voice they had all heard on the bridge many times before, during tense negotiations and space battles. "You _must_ do something – let her meld with you."

Elena, moving quickly from Dr. McCoy's side to kneel before the Vulcan and compel his focus, looked up at the weary face of the Science Officer. "Sir, let me help you."

The coffee-colored eyes had not yet left his captain's face, and Kirk waited, unmoved, knowing the Vulcan could not refuse him for long. As another sharp pain darted through his head, Spock swayed dizzily and surrendered, turning to the astrophysicist. "Do you truly understand what you are suggesting, lieutenant?" he rasped, and the girl nodded.

"I'm familiar with your culture, sir," Elena replied. With a nod from the captain, she reached out to take one thin, cold hand and guide it to her face, waiting as the fingertips searched for the best possible points of contact. The woman closed her eyes in an effort to block out her anxieties and allow the easiest access to her mind.

"_Nahp, hif-bi tu throks._"2 The words were whispered low, and Kirk watched in fascination as the commander's visage began to echo the unfamiliar emotions of the human before him.

The joining was brief, the lieutenant's acceptance of the Vulcan's mental intrusion lessening the meld's difficulty, but to McCoy, who opposed these things in general, and to Kirk, who understood the dangerous lowering of mental shields, the wait in the still room seemed to last interminably. Finally, as both pairs of lips moved simultaneously, murmuring alien words that neither man understood, the meld was broken, and the girl staggered back, rocking on her heels to gaze about the room in confusion.

"Lieutenant… Spock." The surgeon hurried to the girl's side, then turned to the Vulcan, where Kirk was already bending low. Spock swayed again, and Jim helped him recline on the bed while McCoy ran his tricorder over the resting frame.

"Jim, I don't believe it! His blood pressure's back to normal; his heart rate's in the 200's…" McCoy turned to the woman, his blue eyes widened. "Whatever you did, young lady, it seems to have worked."

Elena rose unsteadily to her feet. "He should be fine after he rests." She looked at the captain. "With your permission, sir, I would like to go to my quarters now."

"Uh, yes, yes," Kirk answered distractedly, not turning from his protective watch over the sleeping Vulcan. Without another word, the woman slipped wearily from the room.

Seeing that Spock was already asleep, McCoy tugged on Kirk's sleeve and nodded towards the door. "Come on, Jim. You could use a nap, too. You look a mess."

Half grinning, Kirk nodded in agreement and started for the door.

"Well," McCoy sighed, following him into the corridor, "it wasn't the best wedding I've ever been to, but it'll do." He smirked, the blue eyes twinkling at his friend. "Funny, though, I never fancied our Science Officer as the marrying type." His smile widened, anticipating future digs at the Vulcan's expense.

"What?" Jim's head jerked up as they walked down the corridor, and he paused, looking back at the Vulcan's door. Frowning, he turned at his own cabin entrance. "Thanks for your help, Bones," he said quietly, and slid past the closing door before the doctor could reply.

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><p>AN: I promise...Lt. Ramsey is not even in the next chapter. But Kirk is. And he's pouting. *squee*

1 It is common fanon that Kirk and Spock shared some type of mental link, but I'm not sure how far into the 5 year mission it was established. During _The Apple_, when Spock arches his burnt back during McCoy's exam, Kirk reflexively reacts at the same moment. Makes me wonder…

2 Your thoughts, give them to me.


	5. Chapter 5

Title: Post Amok

Characters: Kirk, Spock, McCoy, original character

Rating: K+

Word Count: 1051

Spoilers/Warnings: Spoilers for _Amok Time_ and _The City on the Edge of Forever_

Summary: _Amok Time_ after the credits, non-slash. No pairings.

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

A/N: I've been sick and cranky all week, so it was perfect timing for a little McCoy snarkiness. But you gotta love the guy... often he's the only voice of reason amongst the trio!

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><p>A few hours later, Kirk sat at the desk in his quarters, the Alpha shift long over. In no humor for dinner, he sorted through numerous data PADDs, scribbling his name across those requiring it with more force than was necessary.<p>

His mood distinctly foul, Kirk snapped unreasonably at the young yeoman who brought down a report from the late Beta shift on the bridge, and watched her rapidly retreating back with chagrined self-reproach. He lowered back into the desk chair, the shift update still in his hand, and tried to shake off the gloomy thoughts that insisted on intruding. He was jealous, selfishly afraid, and he was just self-aware enough to be embarrassed by it.

But this was _his Vulcan_. Kirk squirmed, ashamed of the possessive nature of his brooding. He admittedly had no desire to be his XO's bondmate, or pursue a relationship of that nature, but he also enjoyed the exclusivity of the Science Officer's attention, his leisure hours, and though the Vulcan would never admit to it, a strong emotional attachment. And he was not ready to share that, to hand over that time and affection to another. He didn't want to lose the slightly competitive chess games during quiet evenings aboard; grumpy breakfasts before early Alpha shifts made more bearable by that calm, reassuring presence; the seemingly unending, bitter nights on the observation deck after away missions gone wrong, when the only thing keeping back the tears and helpless rage at the needless loss of a crewmember was the always present blue waiting patiently at his side.

Kirk swatted fiercely at the PADD, tossing it down on the desk. _What, did I expect he'd always_ _be there?_ the man thought bitterly, and just as quickly, another voice entered his thoughts, softer and more melodic. _"You? At his side. As if you've always been there, and always will."_1 Kirk brushed the still painful memory away angrily. _Well, yeah, I did sort of assume that. And now…. _

He didn't want to admit to the fear that he couldn't command without that quiet figure standing behind the central chair, but he would admit that he was not ready to give up his friend, his brother, nor could he lose that sense of belonging, the knowledge that he mattered to at least one person in the vast universe he'd given up everything to explore.

But this bonding had saved the Vulcan's life. And nothing, no jealousy or disappointment, could equal the twisted feeling of pain in his chest when he had thought his friend was dying. Even if Spock followed her off the Enterprise in compliance with Starfleet Regs – and Kirk was uncertain how he could possibly continue to function without his First – at least the Vulcan's life, and by extension, his own life, would continue to exist.

The door buzzer sounded, interrupting his thoughts, and McCoy strolled in cheerily at his answer. "Well, Jim-boy, I noticed you haven't eaten yet, so I thought I'd drop by and take you with me down to the Mess."

"I'm not hungry," the captain clipped brusquely, turning back to his computer tapes.

McCoy shook his head. "Come on now, Jim, I know you haven't been eating much the past couple of days; those tapes can wait-"

"I said I'm not going, doctor," Kirk snapped grumpily, his expression glaring for a moment at the surgeon.

Bones frowned. "Whatsa matter with you, Jim? Spock's fine now…" he stopped abruptly, a knowing expression flitting across his face. "Oh my lands – Jim, you're pouting." McCoy raised one hand into a facepalm. "You're pouting 'cuz somebody stole your Vulcan. Urghh." The exasperated voice sounded through the doctor's fingers, and Kirk shot him a quick glance, a warning gleam in the now-green eyes.

Removing his hand, McCoy met Kirk's glare, refusing to back down. "Or mebbe you're just ticked off that somebody else saved his life." His blue eyes lit up. "You two are so darn protective of each other, you've thrown yourself between him and danger a hundred times, and when it really mattered, somebody else had to step in to preserve his life and sanity. Is that the problem, _captain_?"

Kirk didn't bother to answer and continued staring at the floor, reluctant to meet the doctor's pointed gaze and confirm just how accurate the CMO's observations were.

"How do you think that girl's feelin', Jim?" McCoy rocked back on his heels to watch his CO's reaction. "You haven't thought this thing through yet, have you, captain?" His voice cooled a shade. "Lt. Ramsey's lost a lot more than a best friend, Jim – she's given up her future for you."

Kirk frowned. "For me?"

"Well, for you and Spock." McCoy stopped for a moment, and took a step closer to his friend. "Jim, Spock is not gonna follow her. I know that's what you're thinking, but as we saw two weeks ago, he'd literally rather die than leave you…" An affectionately irritated smile flitted across his face, and he nearly succumbed to an eye-roll. "You're being an idiot, Jim; you're not gonna lose Spock. But she has lost everything, any hope of a future, any chance of a normal life, or even a mate capable of expressing emotion." The surgeon moved to stand in front of his friend, refusing to allow him his moment of self-pity. "You see, that girl has two choices now…. leave Spock and throw him back in _pon'farr _or whatever that thing is, again, or maintain the link, and help him every seven years."

The blue eyes softened. "That's a pretty lonely prospect for a young woman. And it's not like she can run around behind his back, in between his Times – he's permanently stuck in her head now, unless she severs the link." He paused. "Blasted Vulcan voodoo," Bones groused under his breath.

Jim was listening now, his eyes reflecting remorse mixed with still-lingering bitterness, and McCoy decided he'd gone far enough. "I just stopped by to check on Lt. Ramsey, and she was not in her quarters. Now, you can sit in here sulking, if you want. But you're her captain, and she's just saved your friend's life. I'll let you do what you want with that." The CMO wheeled around and stalked from the cabin.

1 _The City on the Edge of Forever_.


	6. Chapter 6

Title: Post Amok

Characters: Kirk, Spock, McCoy, original character

Rating: K+

Word Count: 887

Spoilers/Warnings: Slight spoiler for Search for Spock.

Summary: _Amok Time_ after the credits, non-slash. No pairings.

Authors Note: I apologize for taking so long to wrap this up…..For a while, I thought the flu had killed my muse permanently. Anyway, this is just a simple explanation for what kept Spock alive through the years; I cannot believe he would have left Kirk and returned to Vulcan for any reason, before the accident at the Nexus, and this was my fun (or not so fun) reasoning for his solution to _pon'farr_ throughout the TOS movies.

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

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><p>Kirk paused in front of the automatic doors, somehow certain that he would find the young lieutenant in the room beyond. Taking a calming breath, he pushed aside the still-tumultuous emotions that strove for his attention, cordoning them off to be dealt with at a later time. Jim stepped into the darkened observation deck and glanced around, grateful that the room was empty, save for one quiet figure on the opposite end of the deck. Approaching the motionless girl, the captain paused a few feet away, uncertain how to begin, or how to broach the subjects that needed to be discussed.<p>

"I want to thank you, lieutenant," Kirk began quietly, his voice breaking through the empty silence in the room. "You saved Mr. Spock's life today," he reluctantly admitted, forcing his voice to remain calm and impassive. "And I'm grateful." Dry, burning eyes flickered up to meet his for the briefest moment, before turning back to the transparent aluminum.

Kirk frowned, his back straightening uncomfortably, but the man was determined to push through his unpleasant duties as briefly as possible. He continued slowly, carefully choosing his words. "Forgive me, Lt. Ramsey, but as the captain, I need to understand any situation which will affect the staffing on my ship." _And as a friend_, he continued silently, _I need to know for Spock_. "Is it your intention, then, to remain Mr. Spock's bondmate?"

A cool expression turned from the viewing area to survey Kirk's face. "Captain," Elena's voice held an edge of disbelief, "it would be the height of cruelty to break the link again, after what T'Pring did." She paused. "I am not sure his mind could even handle the severing."

Kirk's shoulders dropped slightly, relief mixed with lingering resentment evident in his expression. He cleared his throat. "Lieutenant, I am sure you are aware of Starfleet Command's policies regarding fraternization between upper and lower ranks, particularly concerning a ship's command team. Do I need to transfer-" he hesitated, and swallowed something. "That is, will you or Mr. Spock require reassignment-"

"Sir," the young woman interrupted him, "It is a Vulcan marriage." She gave a small smile. "Very Vulcan, very logical. He will not need my…" her eyes dropped for a moment, stumbling over her words, "assistance, for seven more years. So I do not think that this will interfere in our ability to perform our Starfleet duties." The girl's eyes met the captain's suddenly, in a challenging gaze. "And frankly, sir, as such, I do not see where it really is any of Starfleet Command's business."

_Seven years_….Kirk suddenly looked at the woman more clearly, compassion in his expression, noting the telling lines of stress on her face. "Lt. Ramsey, I am so sorry. If I had known…"

Harsh laughter interrupted him. "Captain," the woman scoffed in disdain, incredulous that he could even pretend to be in such deep self-denial. "You would have willingly offered me, or any other woman on the ship, as a blood sacrifice, if that had been required for his life to continue." Ramsey stood waiting, no longer speaking as a subordinate to her superior officer, but as a woman who had lost everything, to the man who would reap all the benefits of her sacrifice.

Kirk frowned, indignant at the girl's cool accusations, but the protest died on his lips abruptly, as memories surfaced of the New Paris colonies, of Deneva, whole planets he had been willing to risk for Spock's sake.

In the corner, the young lieutenant sighed softly, watching the suddenly stricken look that darted across the captain's face. "It's alright, sir. We all have a duty, our place in the universe." The woman's eyes had turned out to the stars again. "Yours….is to watch over this ship, and see her safely home again. And his place, is to watch over you, and be there to pull you out of the fire whenever you jump in." A slight pause, with neither moving. "And mine, I guess," she continued softly, "is to watch over him, and ensure his continued survival." The woman turned from the window to face her commanding officer. "So it's really rather simple, captain." The girl managed a sad smile, and turned to walk away, the hiss of the door informing the captain that he was alone.

Kirk stood fixed at the viewing window, watching the stars flicker from the black depths of space. He was conscious that, beneath the sadness pressing in, a stronger undercurrent of relief was surging. Relief that they had survived, and that life would continue as it had for the last almost two years. The young woman's words returned again to his thoughts, and Kirk reluctantly admitted that she was right. He had too often risked high stakes on his First Officer's behalf, and if he were truthful, would be ready to do so again.

Looking out at the stars, Jim ran loving fingertips against the durasteel frame of his ship, his Lady, and wondered just how far he would go, and what he would be willing to sacrifice, to maintain the Vulcan's existence. A tremor of foresight passed through him, but he brushed the dark thoughts away, squaring his shoulders as he turned to stride from the room.

He would not borrow trouble; they were safe for today. That was enough.


End file.
